


decades, clearing cobwebs

by randomfatechidna



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, bucky and nat have been in love for a long time, steve is just finding this out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 15:19:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10879530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomfatechidna/pseuds/randomfatechidna
Summary: She knows this joke: three tired super soldiers walk into a bar.





	decades, clearing cobwebs

They find him in a squat little apartment, hunched over soup, eyes wide and dirt on every inch of him. He gets up slowly, raising his palms to face their raised guns. He is not armed, as far as they can tell. Steve approaches: gentle, slow, murmuring his name, phrasing it like a question. 

The Winter Soldier looks at the Black Widow, and frowns. "Natushka?" 

"James?"

Steve lowers his gun, a small measure of disbelief spreading across his face. "You know each other?"

.

It goes like this. They manage a reunion of sorts, three super soldiers in one room, revealing parts of themselves they haven't shaken loose in decades, clearing cobwebs from their memories. 

Natasha explains the Red Room, the things she never told SHIELD, never even told Barton. Things she didn't remember until the very last dregs of her last wipe wore off, and things she couldn't speak of for fear that she if she did, they would disappear like smoke. 

James explains being bought by the Soviets, the never-ending cold, being sent to train, to improve, to break. Things he didn't remember until his last wipe wore off. Things he didn't remember until he saw her. 

Steve looks between them as they speak, seeing his closest friends with brand new eyes. 

.

It goes like this. 

"How could you not think to tell me?" 

and "You didn't think this kind of information was at all pertinent?" 

and "I need some air," 

and, quietly, "He was my best friend."

.

With Steve gathering his thoughts, James returns to his now cooled soup, a hand braced on the hard, matte timber of the table. She puts her hand on his, a small gesture, with the intention to comfort. He flips her hand to press his lips to her palm, the memory in the gesture tugging at her ribs, and they grin at each other like no time has passed at all. 

She ducks her head - he makes her feel seventeen all over again, weak in the knees and blushing and in awe of him as much as in love with him. 

So much has happened, between then and now. She has to know. 

"How much do you remember?"

(Do you remember how much we loved each other? Do you remember Paris in the rain? Do you remember the nights you would visit me, and the night they took you away?)

"Enough," he says, with a look that she thinks is a bit of Steve's Bucky shining through, and she nods, satisfied. 

"Good."

.

They talk, and Steve comes back inside, cursing the wind that's picking up now, and Natasha leaves them to their past. (It wasn't her time, her friendship, and she will leave those discussions to those who need them). 

She finds a big tasselled blanket that smells like earth and him, and she curls up on the rocking chair that sways gently in the wind outside the apartment. There's an awful lot of strained whispering from the boys, which just ends up becoming tense yelling, and then it goes quiet for a really, really long time. 

The thing is, in Odessa, she didn't remember him, not like she does now. She saw him: his rifle, his arm, and she recognised him in the same way she might recognise an actor from tv, or an acquaintance on the street whose name she can't recall. 

It made her angry, the not remembering, it made her feel like she did when she first defected - empty and free-falling. She was without history, or, at least, without history that she knew for certain to be true. She remembers Clint in those weeks, unsure whether to push her or not, sensing there was a problem. That he ended up giving her the space to work through it herself, she is immeasurably grateful. 

In time, the pieces fell into place. There was a day, a Sunday, she thinks, in the middle of a mission, that she woke up and she realised that she knew exactly who the Soldier was and could map out their entire life together in her head. She kept it together all through breakfast with Clint until she managed to escape for a shower, afraid of forgetting it all again if she so much as whispered the words aloud. They left to finish the mission without even the suggestion that she had crumbled into painful sobs from the moment the bathroom door had swung shut behind her. 

She still felt like little Nataliya from the Red Room and wasn't sure whether finding another one, another thing like her, brought her pain or a settling, bone-deep relief. 

.

She's getting cold, even under her blanket and the warmth of the serum in her blood. The wind is positively howling, her hair whipping into her face and pulling out her curls into a straight, frizzy mess. The night is deep, barely a star to be seen, and the quiet settles into her skin. 

She goes inside. 

The boys are quiet, now, whispering about days long past, Barnes asking questions about things he's forgotten. Steve, noticing her leaning on the doorframe, stands and hugs her with warmth. 

"I'm sorry," he says when they pull apart, all honesty and sincerity. "I can't judge what you chose to keep from me. It was your life. Your memory."

The concession from him feels odd to her. Only a handful of people have ever apologised to her like this, and despite her training, she chooses to allow herself to show her discomfort. She murmurs something like thanks, unable to meet his eyes. She can't help but think that Barnes had something to do with Steve's apology, not that she thought for one second that Steve could stay angry with her.

They need each other, now. Three super soldiers out of time, two thirds with memory problems and another who hasn't been awake since the forties. It would be almost comical, she thinks, in a weary sort of way. She knows this joke: three tired super soldiers walk into a bar.

Nobody's laughing, but that doesn't mean they're not a family. 

They only have each other now.


End file.
